Category Archives: Music

ALL OF THE WITCHES AND THE DEMONS BETTER GET OUT MY WAY…

Adam Lambert is back in a major way, thanks to his latest EP ‘Velvet: Side A’ out now. Lead single ‘Superpower’ is, well, nothing short of super. It’s got a groove and a theme of self-empowerment that simply shines. The funk is strong with this one, so lay it down for a Saturday night out and get your pimp on. Bonus points for that green suit.

I DON’T KNOW WHY YOU THINK THAT YOU COULD HOLD ME 
WHEN YOU CAN’T GET BY BY YOURSELF 
AND I DON’T KNOW WHO WOULD EVER WANT

TO TEAR THE SEAM OF SOMEONE’S DREAM 
BABY, IT’S FINE, YOU SAID THAT WE SHOULD JUST BE FRIENDS 
WHILE I CAME UP WITH THAT LINE AND I’M SURE 
THAT IT’S FOR THE BEST 
IF YOU EVER CHANGE YOUR MIND, DON’T HOLD YOUR BREATH 

‘CAUSE YOU MAY NOT BELIEVE THAT BABY, I’M RELIEVED 
WHEN YOU SAID GOODBYE, MY WHOLE WORLD SHINES 

HEY HEY HEY…

Certain songs just make you happy, no matter how much you don’t want to give in to it. I don’t know why we fight it so much sometimes, the simple urge to be happy. It would be so much easier to follow that bliss. Maybe that will be the theme for this fall. It came to mind as this Michael Buble ditty came over the speakers when I was browsing the beautiful wares at Faddegon’s Garden Center. A greenhouse always cheers me up – and has saved many a dismal winter morning. At the end of summer I’m not quite there yet, but the gift section was brimming with good things and the orchids were blooming in the third greenhouse and suddenly my morning was a whole lot better. Surrounding oneself with beauty can have that effect. I highly recommend it.

IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DAY AND I CAN’T STOP MYSELF FROM SMILING 
IF I’M DRINKING, THEN I’M BUYING AND I KNOW THERE’S NO DENYING 
IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DAY, THE SUN IS UP, THE MUSIC’S PLAYING 
AND EVEN IF IT STARTED RAINING YOU WON’T HEAR THIS BOY COMPLAINING 
‘CAUSE I’M GLAD THAT YOU’RE THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY 
IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DAY 

The summer was almost done but the sun was still shining. This is one of those songs that cheers you up instantly. On its surface it’s just a fun, brass-inflected bop, but underneath it’s ripe for reflection and looking back at the bad things that happened in your life – the ones from which you managed to get away. Mostly because there was no choice, but getting through counts, no matter how you did it or why.

IT’S MY TURN TO FLY, SO GIRLS, GET IN LINE 
‘CAUSE I’M EASY, NO PLAYING THIS GUY LIKE A FOOL 
NOW I’M ALRIGHT 
MIGHT’VE HAD ME CAGED BEFORE, BUT NOT TONIGHT 

‘CAUSE YOU MAY NOT BELIEVE THAT BABY, I’M RELIEVED 
THIS FIRE INSIDE, IT BURNS TOO BRIGHT 
I DON’T WANT TO SAY “SO LONG”, I JUST WANT TO SAY “GOODBYE” 

HEY HEY HEY 

Fall is tricky when it comes to heartache and heartbreak and, if you’re lucky, heartwake – when you fall in love all over again despite your best intentions and most intelligent resolve. It’s infuriatingly seductive that way, how it lulls you in with its first days of warmth – so like summer, so like fun – and before you know it there are flurries and smoke and even if everything is up in flames you feel nothing but cold and numb. 

So turn this music up and bop along to all the mistakes we made in the past, to all the times we didn’t know any better, and especially to all the times we did but ignored the right thing to do. It’s a beautiful day, indeed…

IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DAY AND I CAN’T STOP MYSELF FROM SMILING 
IF I’M DRINKING, THEN I’M BUYING AND I KNOW THERE’S NO DENYING 
IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DAY, THE SUN IS UP, THE MUSIC’S PLAYING 
AND EVEN IF IT STARTED RAINING YOU WON’T HEAR THIS BOY COMPLAINING 
‘CAUSE I’M GLAD THAT YOU’RE THE ONE WHO GOT AWAY 

‘CAUSE IF YOU EVER THINK I’LL TAKE UP 
MY TIME WITH THINKING OF OUR BREAK-UP 
THEN, YOU’VE GOT ANOTHER THING COMING YOUR WAY 
‘CAUSE IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DAY 
BEAUTIFUL DAY 
OH, BABY, ANY DAY THAT YOU’RE GONE AWAY 
IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DAY

Andy is out running his evening errands. The night fell faster than expected, as it is wont to do at this time of the year. I turn on the lamps in the living room. It feels cozier that way. Less lonely. In the air, Shirley Horn sings a sweet lament in this gorgeous song. Maybe September… because it’s such a volatile time of the year. The days can be sweet or salty, depending on the sun, on the wind, on the rain… and the nights are even less predictable. On this one, I listen to the dearly departed Ms. Horn and pour myself an unexpectedly-short glass of whiskey, mostly because I’m not a whiskey guy, and a little of that will go a long way with me at this point. There’s nothing good or noble about holding my liquor anymore. But on this weekend night, it will warm the stomach and tease the soul. And maybe this is what gentlemen do.

MAYBE SEPTEMBER I WILL LOVE AGAIN

MAYBE A RAINBOW WILL CATCH ME THEN

THIS LITTLE GIRL’S EYES WILL FIND HER WAY ONCE MORE
JUST LIKE BEFORE, WHEN LOVE WAS TENDER…

Yes, September, you are a tricky sort. So willow-like. So mercurial. So slippery, seductive and silly. So perfect for the sounds of Shirley Horn. Accompanied by a glass of whiskey, and punctuated in the past with a clove cigarette, you are a spicy slice of life. I’ll raise a glass to that: here’s to life. The world seems to want more in September. I mean that in many ways. Love can come easy and hard when summer slips away. Easy to fall. Hard to pick yourself back up. 

THE SWAY OF A WILLOW WHEN LOVE WAS BORN
A FACE ON THE PILLOW WHEN EARLY MORN’
I STILL SEE THAT GOLDEN WORLD IN ALL ITS SPLENDOR
MAYBE SEPTEMBER
LOVE WILL COME AGAIN…

Once upon a time…

No, that’s quite wrong…

Because it can never be just once. At least, it wasn’t for me. 

I would fall repeatedly, over and over, and every September I would do it again. Failed fall romances were my unhappy history. I’d try for spring, and finally find some happiness in summer, but fall was always misery. And mystery. And it wasn’t all bad. 

There is still some sun to be had, even at the end of September. There is still some warmth and heat, when the earth soaks in the sunlight and holds onto it with terrible tenacity, when it might be better to just let it go. I love such struggle. I love people more when they try. When faced with the inevitable, which would you do? Fight against it or give in? I’ve always given in. Most of my friends – at least the ones I value most – would fight. That’s why they’re my friends. I’m not that strong. 

Yet I have a fondness for September. After all these years, when September stopped stinging so much, when it stopped hurting, I find a sense of solace and resignation in this moody month. We put the gardens to sleep. We put our shorts away. We store the pool towels in the attic and hope to remember where they are in the spring. 

Tonight, I step outside. Warmed by the whiskey, I find the coolness of the evening soothing. September and I make our peace. A cricket chirps in the darkness. The moon glows vaguely in the clouds. Andy will be home soon. I step inside.

A TALLER TREE, A SWEETER LOG
A BLUER MORNING SKY ABOVE
AND MAYBE COME SEPTEMBER
I WILL SHARE THESE WONDERS
WITH MY LOVE.

ONCE UPON A SUMMERTIME, IF YOU RECALL,

WE STOPPED BESIDE A LITTLE FLOWER STALL

A BUNCH OF BRIGHT FORGET-ME-NOTS

WAS ALL I’D EVER LET YOU BUY ME 

ONCE UPON A SUMMERTIME JUST LIKE TODAY

WE LAUGHED THE HAPPY AFTERNOON AWAY

AND STOLE A KISS AT EVERY STREET CAFE 

The Virgo part of me (granted, that’s the main part) is happy and content to have clear lines of demarcation for everything. That includes the season. The exact date of each solstice is of the utmost importance. What else would separate us from the slippery slope leading to chaos and uncertainty? This world is close enough to such peril.

However, I find that with the seasons, such a line is arbitrary at best, and deceptive at worst. Seasons do not change in a single day. There is not a switch that goes on or off with each shift from summer to fall. Those changes are gradual. Some have already begun. The goldenrod is in bloom and has been for a while. Some of the maple leaves have lost their green and are shading toward yellow – the effect is a shade of chartreuse not dissimilar to the way they appear in the spring. Everything comes full circle. We all return to where we began.

Tonight we straddle the line between summer and fall. If it’s the former you favor, do visit our Summer Recap 2019: Part One, Part Two, Part Three and Part Four. It’s the first summer I’ve been regularly blogging in two years, and it was a sweaty, semi-naked labor of love. If you favor the fall over the heat and haze, stay tuned for a season filled with its heady harvest. Most labors bear fruit at some point… pluck away.

NOW ANOTHER WINTER TIME HAS COME AND GONE

THE PIGEONS FEEDING IN THE SQUARE HAVE FLOWN

BUT I REMEMBER WHEN THE VESPERS CHIMED

YOU LOVED ME ONCE UPON A SUMMERTIME.

MAY YOU HAVE AUSPICIOUSNESS AND CAUSES OF SUCCESS
MAY YOU HAVE THE CONFIDENCE TO ALWAYS DO YOUR BEST
MAY YOU TAKE NO EFFORT IN YOUR BEING GENEROUS
SHARING WHAT YOU CAN, NOTHING MORE NOTHING LESS
MAY YOU KNOW THE MEANING OF THE WORD HAPPINESS
MAY YOU ALWAYS LEAD FROM THE BEATING IN YOUR CHEST
MAY YOU BE TREATED LIKE AN ESTEEMED GUEST
MAY YOU GET TO REST, MAY YOU CATCH YOUR BREATH

AND MAY THE BEST OF YOUR TODAYS BE THE WORST OF YOUR TOMORROWS
AND MAY THE ROAD LESS PAVED BE THE ROAD THAT YOU FOLLOW

Summer is for happy songs. Save the cynicism for fall or winter. Save the hope and the glory for spring. But give me a happy song before the summer ends. Give me poetry set to music. Nothing too deep, though. Please. Summer has its secret sorrows and carries its own heartbreak. That’s why it’s important to have sun and music and water that laps at distant shores. Palazzo pants and terry cloth wraps. Sunglasses and sunscreen, and Tom Ford’s ‘Soleil Blanc’. Brightness and shine and summer’s contented sighs.

WELL HERE’S TO THE HEARTS THAT YOU’RE GONNA BREAK
HERE’S TO THE LIVES THAT YOU’RE GONNA CHANGE
HERE’S TO THE INFINITE POSSIBLE WAYS TO LOVE YOU
I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT
HERE’S TO THE GOOD TIMES WE’RE GONNA HAVE
YOU DON’T NEED MONEY, YOU GOT A FREE PASS
HERE’S TO THE FACT THAT I’LL BE SAD WITHOUT YOU
I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT ALL

OH! I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT ALL
I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT
I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT ALL

Some days summer wants only to rain, to blanket the world with a gauzy mantle of clouds and a thick veil of mist. Obscuring the sunny clarity that usually accompanies high noon with a hazy, soft-focus fog, summer likes to play its tricks on the unsuspecting sun-worshipper. Dampening emotion and sidewalks with tears from the sky, it displays another facet of its jewel-like form. See how it sparkles! See how it rends rainbows from raindrops!

MAY YOU BE AS FASCINATING AS A SLAP BRACELET
MAY YOU KEEP THE CHAOS AND THE CLUTTER OFF YOUR DESK
MAY YOU HAVE UNQUESTIONABLE HEALTH AND LESS STRESS
HAVING NO POSSESSIONS THOUGH IMMEASURABLE WEALTH
MAY YOU GET A GOLD STAR ON YOUR NEXT TEST
MAY YOUR EDUCATED GUESSES ALWAYS BE CORRECT
AND MAY YOU WIN PRIZES SHINING LIKE DIAMONDS
MAY YOU REALLY OWN IT EACH MOMENT TO THE NEXT

AND MAY THE BEST OF YOUR TODAYS BE THE WORST OF YOUR TOMORROWS
AND MAY THE ROAD LESS PAVED BE THE ROAD THAT YOU FOLLOW

Above all else, summer is the fruition of the promise of spring, even when it rains, even when it pours, even when it’s breaking your heart. And so we sing. We sing from the depths of sunny despair, we sing from the heights of crying eaglets, we sing and we dance and we fall to the ground exhausted from our song. 

WELL HERE’S TO THE HEARTS THAT YOU’RE GONNA BREAK
HERE’S TO THE LIVES THAT YOU’RE GONNA CHANGE
HERE’S TO THE INFINITE POSSIBLE WAYS TO LOVE YOU
I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT
HERE’S TO THE GOOD TIMES WE’RE GONNA HAVE
YOU DON’T NEED MONEY, YOU GOT A FREE PASS
HERE’S TO THE FACT THAT I’LL BE SAD WITHOUT YOU
I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT ALL

OH, I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT ALL
I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT
I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT ALL

OH, I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT ALL

Summer has a weird way of turning things upside down. More than Mercury in retrograde, it bungles the mind, messing with the matter in the head. Maybe it’s the sun – that glorious, vicious, life-giving orb – pulsating and pulling us to it, never quite letting us go, keeping us in orbit, bound forever, circling in the slightest parabolic curve. It brings us back to the past, much as it pushes us ahead. Like a myth, we take our places in the firmament.

COMBAT, I’M READY FOR COMBAT
I SAY I DON’T WANT THAT, BUT WHAT IF I DO?
‘CAUSE CRUELTY WINS IN THE MOVIES
I’VE GOT A HUNDRED THROWN-OUT SPEECHES I ALMOST SAID TO YOU

EASY THEY COME, EASY THEY GO
I JUMP FROM THE TRAIN, I RIDE OFF ALONE
I NEVER GREW UP, IT’S GETTING SO OLD
HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU

Some of us suit up, preparing for battle. Better to go out fighting than waiting to win. A victory of being right is always a valediction of some sort, because who could put up with that for too long? But we won’t give up that easily. The fight rages because the heart knows no reason. Summer fuels the madness. And a summer moon… well, who has a chance? We will ride out in the night…

I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER
I’VE BEEN THE PREY
WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING?
BUT WHO COULD STAY?

DARK SIDE, I SEARCH FOR YOUR DARK SIDE
BUT WHAT IF I’M ALRIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT HERE?
AND I CUT OFF MY NOSE JUST TO SPITE MY FACE
THEN I HATE MY REFLECTION FOR YEARS AND YEARS

We build our castle, and I make it as pretty as possible. A spear-studded iron barricade of youth, rusted and entwined with a climbing hydrangea. A glass windowpane, unbroken, and impossible to put together again if it were any other way. Memory rides on the breeze. On humid nights, the old Ko House organ releases scents and molecules from a lifetime ago, when we’d peek around their banister to see if the adults were still by the fire at Christmas. It still carries its song, music like scent, senses placing us back in our childhood. The summer stickiness pulls me back there then jerks me back to the present.

I WAKE IN THE NIGHT, I PACE LIKE A GHOST
THE ROOM IS ON FIRE, INVISIBLE SMOKE
AND ALL OF MY HEROES DIE ALL ALONE
HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU

I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER,
I’VE BEEN THE PREY
SCREAMING, WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING?
BUT WHO COULD STAY?

These floors of wood once felt so solid, once felt so secure. They creak now, a bit battered, a bit worn, even a little warped. They’ve seen the seasons, they’ve paced the years. Crumbling into their waves, my body is not what it used to be. It creaks now too. It buckles and cracks and brings pain. It goes down, brittle shell meeting splintered resistance. This will not hold you like the earth. No arms will embrace you. Nothing will give you what you want. Nothing will give you what you need.

(I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME, I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME)

‘CAUSE THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH
CAN YOU SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME?
THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH
THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME

A summer fairytale. Why would we ever trust the words of a fairy? And why ever in the summer, of all available points of time? That sun is on the rise. That heat is waiting to ascend. That army is ready to assemble. One crisp white shirt. One suit striped of pin. One tie of silk and elegance. Black belt in leather. A pair of shoes tipped with wings. Armor isn’t just steel and metal mesh. Looks can kill.

ALL THE KING’S HORSES, ALL THE KING’S MEN
COULDN’T PUT ME TOGETHER AGAIN
‘CAUSE ALL OF MY ENEMIES STARTED OUT FRIENDS
HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU

I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER
I’VE BEEN THE PREY
WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING?
BUT WHO COULD STAY?

The war has always been within. Storms may circle, shots may strike, but the battle for your soul can only be won, or lost, by you. That’s the most difficult battle of all. Usually it’s impossible. Have you ever tried playing chess against yourself? Or any game for that matter. We are our own worst enemies. We know our weaknesses, we know our strengths, we know just where to strike to pierce the most vulnerable piece of heart. We know and so we guard against it, but in doing so we cut off all other aid or support. A self-fulfilling summer prophecy, cut with shards of sunlight and salty sea water.

(I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME, I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME)
WHO COULD STAY?
WHO COULD STAY?
WHO COULD STAY?
YOU COULD STAY
YOU COULD STAY
YOU…

COMBAT, I’M READY FOR COMBAT.

Maybe it’s time to end this war.

Maybe I can put down my weapons.

Maybe I can put down my hurt.

Maybe I can…

The older I get, the more difficult it is to make new memories, and most of them pale in comparison to the old ones. That’s the beauty and the tragedy of memory. One day, though, the experiences we are having now may be tinged with that rose-colored hindsight of memory and become something better than they are today. Such is the simple scene that came to mind when I played this song by Sia. I’d been playing that album as I floated in the pool for one entire summer, idly turning the pages of a book while trying not to get it wet, then pausing for a stint in the sun and some iced tea. Then I’d return to the water, awkwardly scrambling atop some cheap float that served its sole purpose for a single season.

When my mind wandered from the book to my surroundings, it would also imbue the gentle trajectory of my float’s journey around the pool with fantastical notions of cruise ships stopping at various Ports of Plants – beginning with the Japanese cherry tree, moving through the grove of arborvitae, and rounding the corner of the weeping larch. We’d pause for an excursion through the side garden, beneath the coral bark maple and the climbing hydrangea, before re-boarding and sailing past the potted angel trumpets and feathery-topped papyrus.

 The water would push us along to the next stop at the main gardens, where we would disembark for a tour of the shade border, rife with hosta in bloom, Japanese anemones in bud, and Japanese painted ferns in full splendor. A variegated Chinese dogwood still held onto a few of its creamy bracts, while its non-variegated cousins provided welcome shade beneath their handsome green canopies. In the main garden bed, an explosion of fountain grass rose to the sky, matched by the brilliance of a stand of cup plants. The latter hosted butterflies and bees in a busy flower market; one had to look closer and delve deeper to find a lavender-hued lace-cap hydrangea hidden beneath a dogwood and slightly behind the fountain grass. There were some special singe-flowered peonies there too, but they had long since passed their blooming period.

Back in the water, floating over the deep end, we would proceed to the Forest of Ostrich Ferns, which hadn’t quite decided to start their typical scorched decline just yet. A few stalks of Joe Pye weed rose above them, taking advantage of the extra water the ferns got, and the way they shielded the soil from drying out too much. A Korean lilac drifted by, or rather we drifted by the Korean lilac; once in a while it would throw out a welcome re-bloom with the fragrance that brought one back to the very beginning of the summer season. Here we were already a month solidly into it, and that gone too soon.

A stiff upright stand of zebra grass rose behind the pool ladder, then we sailed into the welcome shade of a seven sons’ flower tree, just sending out its late-season buds of sweetness. They would soon open their tiny white blossoms to the giddy intoxication of bees from all over the neighborhood, and as I returned to the spot where my cruise-float began its journey, I was relieved to think there was still much summer to come.

On another song from this album, Sia sang of a sweet potato, bringing to mind the ever-fresh chartreuse shades of the sweet potato vine. There were dark burgundy varieties that some planted to contrast with the lighter green, but I was never a fan. I wanted things to be fresh and bright always, to keep the beginning of summer and not let it deepen too much. There was enough of that on the oak leaves, already deep green and leathery, and the acorns that were forming and just beginning to fall. Ahh, that word. It’s been said. Let us not utter it again.

Back in the pool, there was more summer to be had. My cruise around its perimeter left me dizzy from a sun-baked haze. The undulating water threw shards of reflected sunlight back at my face. There was something disconcerting yet giddy about this in-between state. Between solid and liquid, between light and shadow, between sunlight and water, we rode the little waves as a song about a sweet potato played in the background – a mesmerizing siren call that left the listener doped in a sweet trippy state of aural intoxication.

While any smart person would hesitate to proclaim one particular summer their all-time favorite, the summer of 1990 stands out as a definite contender in my life. (2000 and 2010 do as well, for different reasons.) Way back in 1990, I was all of fourteen going on fifteen, but I can still remember more of that summer than I can of anything that happened yesterday.

It began with a first date with a guy, when all I could do was ‘Hold On’ because I didn’t even know what was happening. It continued with the striking of a pose: ‘Vogue.’ It got everyone a little Breathless, because ‘It Must Have Been Love’ before I even knew what love was. Does anyone really know what love is? It saw my friends and I making a trip to the then-Soviet Union ~ around the world and as far away from home as we could possibly be, so we made our own home and somehow I knew that I would be all right. A guy named Rat helped a little too.

It was a summer of wishful thinking and someone would be crowned a king…

I DON’T NEED TO FALL AT YOUR FEET

JUST CAUSE YOU CUT ME TO THE BONE

AND I WON’T MISS THE WAY THAT YOU KISS ME

WE WERE NEVER CARVED IN STONE

IF I DON’T LISTEN TO THE TALK OF THE TOWN

THEN MAYBE I CAN FOOL MYSELF

I’LL GET OVER YOU I KNOW I WILL

I’LL PRETEND MY SHIP’S NOT SINKING

AND I’LL TELL MYSELF I’M OVER YOU

CAUSE I’M THE KING OF WISHFUL THINKING

I AM THE KING OF WISHFUL THINKING.

I needed someone under me before I could get over them. Yet I was not quite ready to embark or even hope for a romantic quest. When I thought about girls, I wanted to be their friend more than anything else, to be part of their whispered secrets, to exchange silly notes, to be a member of their cloistered spheres and realms of influence. I wanted to BE with them, not to be WITH them. And at such a young age (because once upon a time fourteen was a very young age) I had no interest in anything else.

My feelings for men were more along the lines of desire and ache and want and frustration.

There was so much I didn’t know.

To make up for that, or to impel something ~ anything ~ into happening (such were my soap-operatic leanings) I wished to access the push and pull of this Go West pop song. I wanted the heartache because that would mean I’d had a love to lose. I wanted the break-up pangs of sadness because it would mean I would have had the happiness of romance. I wanted the blues because something in my soul accessed sadness easier than happiness. It might have been fucked up, but I’ve never claimed not to be fucked up.

I REFUSE TO GIVE IN TO MY BLUES

THAT’S HOW IT’S GONNA BE

AND I DENY THE TEARS IN MY EYES

CAUSE I DON’T WANT TO LET YOU SEE

THAT YOU HAVE MADE A HOLE IN MY HEART

AND NOW I’VE GOT TO FOOL MYSELF

I’LL GET OVER YOU I KNOW I WILL

I’LL PRETEND MY SHIP’S NOT SINKING

AND I’LL TELL MYSELF I’M OVER YOU

CAUSE I’M THE KING OF WISHFUL THINKING

I AM THE KING OF WISHFUL THINKING.

Despite the warning of so many fairy tales, I wasn’t careful with what I wished for. Happily, I didn’t know that then, and I would welcome any bit of emotional flotsam that floated my way, eager for a feeling, for an emotion, for a reckoning… Summer did that to a person.

Summer was madness.